


Chained to Morpheus

by SnowStormSkies



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: M/M, Molestation, Nipple Play, Non Consensual, Porn With Plot, Somnophilia, Underage Character, kink meme response
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-11
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 19:53:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowStormSkies/pseuds/SnowStormSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuck the rules, David Jost makes them. In his pocket is a slip of paper, the green light to getting exactly what he wants tomorrow and he's going to take it, come hell or high water. </p><p>He's earned it, hasn't he?</p><p>All it takes it one strong sleeping pill and pretty, young Tom is his for the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A reverse response to the prompt: All it takes is one strong sleeping pill and young, pretty Bill is his for the night, with Tom instead of Bill.

Tonight’s concert was an absolute fucking farce, David declares to himself in the bus on the way to the hotel with the boys.  
  
Everything that could go wrong did go wrong; Gustav’s drum set broke fifteen minutes before they were due to go out and had to be bolted back together with duct tape and a prayer because the spare set was a different make and in the back of the bus – too much fucking work to dismantle one set and reassemble the spare, so they just had to hold it together with what they could find and enough determination that they could make through the to the end without it breaking apart and killing one of the other three. Bill lost half his make-up, and his leather jacket back at the hotel and was pissy about going on stage only half made up and not completely dressed, flouncing around backstage until David shouted at him to sit the fuck down and not fucking annoy him. He retreated to Tom’s arms, his elder twin’s protective tendencies kicking in full force and the two of them spent the entire night consciously avoiding David’s gaze. 

Then, not a quarter of the way through the set, Georg’s mic fucked up thirty seconds into Durch den Monsun, and Tom broke three strings on three successive guitars before the half way point. They were late on stage, security was lax and several fans nearly made it onto the stage before they were caught, and David’s got so many messages on his phone from management about extra dates, interviews and photo shoots he’s ready to shoot the fucking thing.

It’s half eleven at night and finally, finally they’ve made it through the end of the signing and backstage photos, and onto the bus with minimal fuss, but the atmosphere inside the vehicle is decidedly tense, the negativity from the bad show roiling in the air, making everyone jumpy and sulky.  
  
Tom is slumped against Bill, the two of them holding hands and whispering together, as they comfort each other over the disaster of a performance they’ve just delivered. Georg is sitting next to Gustav, the two of them silent, with eyes closed; they’re not sleeping though – the tension in their shoulders is high, the stress creating wrinkles in faces far too young to have them. They know how bad tonight was, and they’re probably just waiting for David to blame them, shout and scream at them in a hotel room about how they need to be fucking professionals and another cock-up like that will mean that they might lose the contract, or any of the other engagements he’s had to go down on his knees and beg for. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s thrown an absolute bitch fit at them, and probably won’t be the last, either.  
  
He could do it; he could really go for it. David knows the feeling that he’s got boiling in his belly, knows it well. He could scream at them in the hotel conference room he’s got booked for tomorrow’s interview, but he could take them there tonight. He could make them stand against the wall, even though they’re only teenagers and tired and hungry and cold. He could wail at them about their lack of professionalism, about their failures of tonight, throw all their hard work back in their faces and they’d take it because they wouldn’t know any better. He’s done it more than once before.

Or, alternatively, he could throw in the towel for tonight, like his tired body is telling him to and say fuck no to doing anything but vegging out in front of the television for the next sixteen hours. He could send all the boys to bed and just ignore everything that happened tonight until tomorrow morning. But he’s got a better plan than that.  
  
It just takes a little more thinking outside the box to get his pleasure these days, to relieve himself of the stress that’s been building not just tonight but for the last few weeks.  
  
He’s merciful tonight, and he sends them to their rooms when they get to the hotel, with the strictest of strict instructions to go straight to bed and to not even _think_ about opening the mini-bars, and they go, subdued and worn out. In the lift, Bill curls into Tom’s side, seeking comfort and security from his other half, and they both lean into Gustav and Georg who sling protective arms around both twins. All four turn their backs on David who stands at the back of the lift with Saki and Tobi and David grinds his teeth because he knows why. The whole band uniting against the ogre of a manager – the older two members of Tokio Hotel protecting their younger band mates from David’s glaring and general pissiness. He sees both Georg and Gustav glaring at him in the mirrored doors, their faces set in scowls to counterpoint both Tom and Bill’s worried little faces.

The lift takes an age and a half to get up to the thirtieth floor and David spends all of it glaring at the boys. They in turn, either ignore him or glare right back.

They divide up when they get to the correct floor, dragging their bags out of the lift into the brown carpeted hallway. He hands out room keys at random, and Tom accepts one and the other he practically throws at Gustav. They don’t say thank you when they turn away from him, Bill and Tom slinking through one doorway still holding hands and Georg and Gustav slam another one closed behind them in his face.  
  
Fucking pissy teenagers, sometimes.  
  
It takes forever for them to stop making noises and the showers to stop running and the sound of talking to fade, but when everyone is in bed, and he stops hearing movement in either of the rooms to each side and David is the only person in the whole town dumb enough to be awake, he stands up. He’s still dressed, didn’t bother to even try to go to sleep yet, and he moves quickly and quietly through the hall, down the stairs to the ground floor, needing the physical exercise to burn off some of the nervous energy that he’s got going right now. In the lobby, he waits until the receptionist at the desk goes into the backroom before he slips out of a side door. He’s got a list of directions printed out in his hand, and it takes him no time at all to find what he was looking for. A twenty four hour pharmacy.

Fuck the rules, he makes them. In his pocket is a slip of paper, the green light to getting exactly what he wants tomorrow.

Inside, the shop is quiet and he’s the only customer as he makes his way to the back where he finds the dispensary. The tech at the counter is barely awake, doesn’t even bother to say anything more than “Wha’ you need?” but that doesn’t bother David. He hands over the paper, signs the form the kid behind the counter shoves at him and when it comes, takes the brown glass bottle with a smile and a “thank you”.

It never hurts to be polite.

He jogs the entire way back to the hotel, his mind on tomorrow already. He can practically taste it – can almost feel the skin beneath his lips, his fingers, his dick – he wants it so much he almost falters in his plan, wants to do it tonight. He can’t. Tomorrow. It has to be tomorrow.  
  
Twenty four hours. He can wait that long, can’t he?

\--

Also for your viewing pleasure - 

Tom, in one of my favourite poses ever, and probably about the age I was thinking of - maybe a touch younger.


	2. Chapter Two

Today’s performance went much better, David thinks to himself when they’re in the bus, on the way from the venue. Admittedly, compared to the previous night’s concert, anything could have been an improvement. Nevertheless, the boys listened to his rant over the breakfast table, took on board his pointed, abrasive remarks about professionalism, and performance and taking care of their instruments, and it paid off: nobody cocked up, everybody’s instruments made it through the night unscathed, and the fans _loved_ the increased atmosphere. Security took on board Saki’s lecture about being on the ball about stage climbing and consistently blocking the fans who wanted to get up close and personal with the boys, and nobody got hit with anything other than Bill and a lucky pair of underwear. They got two requests for encores, and the cheering when it was finally over was so loud, everybody in the green room heard it clear as day; a sign of a good concert.

David’s pleased as well for other reasons. Tonight is going to be a good night, he can just taste it.  
  
There are smiles all around on the boys’ faces from the concert high, and everyone on the bus cheers when he says they’re going out to hit a club, get a little drunk and find some ladies. The boys race to change, and David and Saki can hear the sounds of arguing and good natured fighting between them as they get ready for the night out.  
  
The boys are mostly underage and David knows it but he doesn’t care. Though, Georg is the only legal one at eighteen and Gustav is only a few months into being seventeen is still too young and the twins at only just sixteen are most assuredly not old enough, nobody says no to Tokio Hotel, not now that they’re on the up and up, not now they’re famous people. Provided nobody gets absolutely smashed of their face, bartenders and security will turn a blind eye to most things, from alcohol to girls.  
  
They arrive at the club just before ten, and get herded straight past the line, and into the VIP part of the bar. It’s a new place, “ _Chalice_ ” and it’s still got the new smell in the air, everything is still shiny and plastic. The music is pumping, the girls that the bouncers let in are all very pretty and mostly fans and the drink is relatively free flowing for everyone. David lets them off the leash he’s had them on for the last couple of weeks, and before long they’re all separating to go and work their individual brands of magic. Tom finds himself a girl soon enough, takes her off somewhere into the gloom in the back, and Georg and Gustav take to the dance floor, leaving Bill alone with a drink and his phone. He won’t be alone for long though, David knows, and sure enough it’s only a few minutes before a couple of younger girls sidle into the empty booth with him though, and soon enough the whole band is exercising their pent up libidos to their hearts content.  
  
David waits and bides his time.  
  
Two hours later, they’re ready to call it a night; the concert took a lot out of them, and Bill is yawning widely behind his hand from where he sits in a booth with a pretty young brunette. David sends Saki off to collect him, Tobi grabs both Georg and Gustav from the dance floor where they’re getting friendly with some of the fans and David goes on the hunt for Tom.  
  
Just as he hoped, he finds him wrapped around a leggy blonde girl who is at least eighteen if she’s a day, her lips sealed onto his neck, and his hands dipping under her top, guitarist fingers running over the flesh beneath, pulling at the fastening of her bra, teasing her.  
  
For sixteen, he’s very confident in his abilities, but the moans she’s giving him mean that he’s got good reason to be. In the red and blue flashes from the lighting of the dance floor, David can see Tom’s face thrown in sharp relief before being plunged back into shadow again for a second - he’s pulling on his lip piercing, pleasure blowing his pupils wider than David’s ever seen them, a sheen to his face that screams of sexual desire for the girl who is pressed against him. In their little world, they’re the only people – neither notice David standing just a few feet away. He’s rutting against her, wordless moans dropping in between the beat of the music, and it’s probably the second most erotic sight David will see tonight.  
  
The manager in David is pleased that Tom is living up to his player image. The desire in him tells him to jealous of the girl who has one knee between his legs and is pushing against his pelvis with her own. Fuck her pleasure, he thinks and he puts a hand on her shoulder, right over Tom’s where it’s stroking against her neck, and says, “Say goodnight, Tom.” He doesn’t need the flashing strobe lights behind him to know that the teenager’s face is a mix of pleasure and disappointment, caught when he’s almost at the peak of pleasure and he expects a fight, a complaint of the fact he is almost an adult now and could David just fuck off for another hour, please _motherfucker_. He’s well used to that, is prepared to throw on his manager’s hat and invoke it with authority but Tom is a good boy tonight, and gives the girl one last long kiss before pushing her before him out of the booth they’re secreted in. When they’re finally out of the booth, she giggles inanely, trying to find purchase on the floor with her high shoes. When she stands upright, she leans over to Tom again, slips a piece of paper into his pocket, pushes him up against the table of the booth and gives him another deep kiss with plenty of tongue, before sauntering off. Her arrogance is astounding.

Tom tilts his head and leans back into the wall between the booths as he watches her go, his finger reaching into his pocket for the paper. It’s probably her phone number, but David will make him chuck it before they get to the hotel if he doesn’t do it himself – it doesn’t do to hook up with groupies for more than one night, David has lectured them more than once. Tom watches her go, and his fingers crease the torn scrap of paper while he watches her leave him for good.

David doesn’t follow her as she struts away on four inch heels, doesn’t watch those admittedly ample buttocks under a miniskirt glide away from them. That’s not what he’s interested tonight. Instead, he’s drawn by the languid hand that trails down over an oversized t-shirt that’s pulled up, exposing just a thin sliver of skin at Tom’s hip, captivated as it pushes into the teenager’s crotch without thinking. It’s a purely male reaction and David can see why, can understand the need to relieve some of that building pleasure that’s both good and painful. The teen is hard, the rising tent in his jeans not an insignificant size for his age, and he tries to not to look at the budge under the material where it’s pulled tight across his crotch, where it’s so obvious that it’s verging into obscenity, before the teenager drops his shirts back over it and pushes himself upright. David barely restrains himself from reaching out a hand to touch where he knows the teen wanted her to _press_ , **touch** , _stroke_ , **kiss** , _lick_ , and **suck**. Instead, he watches as Tom stalks off to the other end of the bar, where Saki stands with Bill and the others.

Not for the first time, David is struck by how sexualised the older twin can be, watching him saunter back over to the rest of the group, how very masculine his prowess is. It’s such a far cry from innocent, sensitive Bill who thinks kissing is serious and wants to wait for his soul mate before giving away his virginity, who likes to talk to girls and is interested in fashion and films that feature love over explosions and making love over raw sex. The younger boy has never done much with a girl, wouldn’t know what to do with her even if he got an instruction manual and a whole year’s subscription to every men’s magazine on the planet. His twin on the other hand… Even though he has yet to go all the way – there are no secrets in the inner circle of Tokio hotel – Tom is a long way from inexperienced. He’s been going in and out of back rooms, and side rooms, and hotel rooms with girls for as long as he’s been allowed. His confidence is not all bravado, his skill not all talk, his boasts not without merit. David’s seen the girls when the boy is finished with them: glowing, satisfied girls with kiss reddened lips, a sheen to their faces, and Tom following them, smirking and adjusting himself. He’s good at what he does, prides himself on being a good lover. 

Tom’s long loping stride is all about masculine power, and it’s a moment of raw sexuality for him as David watches several girls turn to watch Tom, see them push out their chests and blow kisses at the dreadhead, who smirks, flirts back with a heated gaze, licking at his lip ring.

He’s provoking them, and they oblige by catcalling, spreading their legs just enough to appear slutty and available and Tom nods his approval at the girls who catch his attention, cherry picking the most attractive of them without effort. Beside him, Georg and Gustav try the same, get the same sort of results with the girls in the booths opposite the bar. 

Bill alone is quiet, his leather jacket suddenly miles too big on him as he holds onto Tom’s shirt with one hand, even as Tom makes a crude gesture, simulating what he’d like them to do his dick with his hand over his crotch. When he does it again, Bill curves his shoulder up into his twin's, and the effect is immediate. Even as he flirts, faux-aggressively pursuing the brunette who makes as if to pull her top down in the middle of the bar, Tom is winding his fingers in Bill’s, turning to his other half with his body, offering comfort that those girls will never get from him. The girls pout, try harder to attract his attention back by spreading their legs further, lifting their shirts to bare tantalising glimpses of lace and wire, their lips in bee stung pouts. It’s no good, Tom’s done with them for the night, had enough of the fairer sex after everything. Bill’s is the only face he wants to see now, his hands the only ones he wants to touch him, his twin’s voice the only one he wants in his ear. They’ve lost his interest completely.  


It won’t be them in his bed tonight.

And that makes David a very happy man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, maybe another five hundred words added to the original work. 
> 
> And for your viewing pleasure, Tom, as cute as you like. 
> 
>  


	3. Chapter Three

It’s only a short drive to the hotel – a big white skyscraper that David has been looking forward to for weeks. It’s a four star luxury building, and they’re well used to catering for celebrities, so David anticipates few problems with the unusual circumstances that usual occur around the boys and their entourage.

In the lobby, he signs for the keys and gets a wedge of paperwork to sign to make sure he understand all sorts of legal shit, but he’s done it before, and it’s the work of a moment to rifle through the text, scrawl his signature and scoop the keys off the counter from where the receptionist has laid them out carefully. He sends the boys off to their rooms, their **own** rooms – a rare treat as a reward for the good performance tonight – and insists on them going straight to bed because tomorrow will one hell of a day. When he’s doled out room keys and finished banging on about fire safety instructions and repeated the rules about not going out without a security guard and the rest of the shit he has to say, they take the keys out of his hands, and run off into the lift at full pelt, bags scraping and bumping along the floor as they go. Inside the lift, David gets a chance to see Bill starting a shoving match with Gustav and Georg start wrestling with Tom before  the doors shut and their young, boyish laughter evaporates from the glass and marble lobby like they were never there at all. David rolls his eyes with Saki who is patiently waiting for him to finish signing the paperwork. It takes only a few minutes, and he picks up his own bag, makes his way to the bank of lifts. His room is four nine six, two doors down from the boys, and when he arrives on the same floor, he sees Bill exiting Tom’s room, and Gustav’s door slamming shut.  
  
Tonight at least, three of them will be sleeping alone.  
  
He bids goodnight to Saki who is staying with Tobi, the other side of the boys, and swipes his key card through the reader to open his door. After shutting the door behind him, he drops his bag on the bed, stretches out all the stress from tonight. It’s a long day for anyone and he’s not as young as he would like to think he is. Checking his watch, David realises he has only an hour or os before the first part of his plan must begin. Openign the door to the side of the bed, he finds the bathroom – a large room with a power shower and a Jacuzzi style bathtub. He strips down, relishes in the warm air of the bathroom and climbs into the shower, carefully closing the plexiglass door behind him.

When the water is hot, turning his skin pink and misting up the mirror, he begins to methodically wash himself with the little bottles of stuff left in the corner of the shower. He does, however, avoid touching his privates under the hot water, purposely skirting his fingers around his half hard dick for now. Instead, he savours the pounding of the spray, the temptation of touching himself mitigated by the thought of what is to come later. He’s saving it all for a little while – just another hour and he’ll be doing what he wants, what he’s been craving for the last few weeks but been unable to get his hands on.  
  
Once he’s finished, he turns off the shower, wraps a towel around his waist, picks up the little glass bottle that’s been burning a hole in his pocket all day from the pile of clothes on the bathroom floor, and smiles to himself. Tonight. David can feel it. Tonight is going to be a good night.  
  
Back in his room again, he switches on the television, turns it to a channel he actually recognises. David’s a long way from home, but there’s always a German channel or two on every hotel’s cable. It reminds him of his two bed flat in Berlin. While some inane soap opera plays in the background, he dresses again, new jeans, new t-shirt, no boxers as he waits for the news to come on at midnight. He laces his trainers again and it’s like the shower never happened. He pulls on a black hoodie when the familiar theme music of the news starts up and a blonde woman starts talking about something happening in the Middle East.  
  
When isn’t there something happening in the Middle East?

David picks up his own room key, grabs Tom’s off of the coffee table where he had laid it out in preparation and stashes it in a different pocket from the other three. In his hand, he clutches a little plastic baggie with four blue pills in, and in the pocket of his hoodie, he tucks the brown glass bottle. When he is sure he has not forgotten anything, he pulls open his door. Now he is a man on a mission.

He visits Georg first, rapping hard on the door to make sure the boy hasn’t fallen asleep yet. When the long haired teenager answers the door in a hotel dressing gown, David holds out the reason for knocking on the door at this late hour and Georg nods. He doesn’t even have to step into the bassist’s room; he just drops a blue pill into Georg’s hand and watches as the guitarist dry swallows it. The murmured thank you is unnecessary as the door shuts as Georg turns his attention back to the large double bed that he probably was already drifting off in before David knocked. At least this way, he’ll stay out for the count.  
  
One door down, it’s the same procedure with Gustav, not even leaving the doorway, just making sure the drummer takes the pill. There is no thank you as the drummer sees him out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a thump. Gustav isn’t tetchy, just tired, and David takes no offense at the quiet teenager’s behaviour.  
  
Across the hall, Bill proves to be a problem though.  
  
Inside room 495, David finds not one but both of the twins, sitting on the couch at the foot of the bed, up to something. Bill is already in pyjamas, but Tom is still wearing that night’s jeans and t-shirt, his only concession to the late hour being the removal of his hat and sweatbands. Tom has his guitar in hand, Bill his notepad and they’re both talking quietly while Bill writes something. Judging from the bottles of water on the table, and the room service menu propped up beside Tom’s guitar case, they were planning on staying up late to work on some other creation. Although normally his inner manager would be over the moon at the unexpected hard work of the boys, right now his libido is throwing a shitfit. David clears his throat, twice, and finally they both look up.  
  
“I thought I said straight to bed.” He’s a little bit pissed – this could jeopardise the whole plan for tonight if Tom insists on sleeping in here with Bill.  
  
“Not tired.” Bill argues, his hand still writing even as he glares at David with a make-up free face. “We’re on a roll.”

“Tough. Bed. Now.”

“David, it’s fine. We’ll probably be finished in what, half an hour?” Tom offers, but even as he says it, David is talking over him.  
  
“Don’t care. You need your sleep for tomorrow. Early early start.” It isn’t actually – the only thing they have is a two o’clock radio interview, but neither of the twins know that. “Tom, go back to your room.” He says when the younger twin makes no effort to move to the bed.  
  
“We’re busy.” And there’s the attitude he didn’t want from Tom, who grips his guitar anew, lets a couple of chords drift out from his fingers. “We’re on a roll, so just leave us alone.”

“Now, Tom. You’re exhausted, you need your sleep. Go.” He adds the authority of band manager to his voice, and Tom gives him a long hard stare, sizing him up for a fight. “Tom, you both need the rest – tomorrow is a big day.”

Tom’s jaw comes up, aggressively provoking him. He’s been doing that more and more recently - trying to invoke his own authority - but David ups his own glare. Tom’s hardly a threat to him right now, and David is more than a match for two stroppy and overtired teenagers who won’t do as they are told. But before they can get into a real pissing match like they have far too many times before, Bill breaks into their little world of male aggression by giving a massive yawn, rubbing his eyes afterwards. He looks surprised at himself, for actually being so tired, and he does appear all of about eight in his matching trousers and button up pyjama top, curled up on the sofa like that. He yawns again, and his notepad would have slipped to the floor if Tom hadn’t caught it with the hand that isn’t holding his guitar.

David couldn’t have planned that better if he tried, because Tom caves immediately, just as David knew he would. Only Bill could make him do something like going to bed when he’s told.  
  
“Go on, Bibi,” Tom says, the childhood nickname just slipping out. Neither Bill nor David comment on it. “We’ll finish this tomorrow, yeah?”  
  
He gathers up his cap and sweatbands, stuffing them into an oversized pocket with one hand, still holding onto Bill with the other. Bill doesn’t let go while Tom moves things here and there, shoving things back in the case of the guitar, holding on tight to his brother, and Tom lets him. Tom doesn't even balk at having to use his left hand - David suspects that the older twin has learnt to be ambidexterous out of necessity, rather than anything else, because Bill's always hanging onto the other one. It’s only when he goes to fasten up his guitar in its case that the dreadhead finally lets go of Bill’s hand. How sweet. Such a child, even as he pretends he isn’t.

  
Bill pouts when Tom has closed the case because he knows he won’t get to finish his latest masterpiece tonight, but he throws his arms around Tom as the dreadhead goes to rise. “Night, Tomi…” he says, his voice childishly sleepy and innocent.  
  
“Ni-night, Bibi.” Tom says, with a kiss to Bill’s forehead. A tender moment between twins isn’t rare, but Tom is usually wary of doing so in front of others because of his image and his reputation as a hard player who doesn’t have feelings. Bill has said he doesn’t give a fuck but David knows the younger twin likes these little moments between them; the chance for Tom to show his softer side, to care openly for his twin. The fan girls have it right on the money when they talk about the twin moments, David knows. Tom lets himself out, taking his guitar with him and Bill flops down on the sofa and pouts even more when the door clicks shut. David goes to the mini bar, removes one of the bottles of cold water from the fridge. “Here.” He says, handing over another blue pill with the bottle. Bill makes a face, but takes it anyway – he knows that he sleeps better with the pill than without when he’s on a stress high like he is now.  
  
If only he knew.  
  
David waits this time, watches Bill putter around the room, brushing his teeth in the bathroom, and checking on tomorrow’s outfit that’s laid out on the chair in front of the dresser before climbing into the massive double bed, and curling up under the covers. “Can you get the lights please, David?” Bill’s voice is thick with sleep even after only a few minutes, and David slowly dims the lights, leaving only the bathroom one on. It casts a soft yellow glow on the floor, the rest of the room in shadow, and David knows that if he wanted to, if he really wanted to, he could stay here, fulfil tonight’s requirements with Bill, and leave Tom alone. Bill would be so good, so quiet and pliant that David could do _anything_ to him and he wouldn’t object, wouldn’t say anything except moans and sleepy begging for more.  
  
But he doesn’t want Bill. Not tonight. Tonight he wants _Tom_.  
  
So he leaves Bill sleeping deeply in the middle of that great big king sized bed, alone and untouched for tonight at least, and shuts the door behind him. Across the hall, he slides the key card through the reader, watches the three little lights turn green and steps into Tom’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is chapter three. There is a lot of build up in these early chaptes, but the pr0n is coming. 
> 
> Pun _thoroughly_ intended~
> 
> And despite my intention to make these pictures just about Tom, since there's a tender twin moment in this chapter, have a tender twin moment as your picture. 
> 
>  


	4. Chapter Four

Inside Tom’s room, everything is still. David shuts the door softly behind him, but there’s little chance of Tom hearing him – there is noise in the bathroom, and the shower is going, so he’s safe for now. David steps close to the bathroom and his heart starts to pound - the door left slightly ajar and steam filters through the air into the bedroom. Through the crack in the door, David can see nothing of interest – the angle is wrong, and the mirror is facing the wall, not the shower. It’s not a big deal, just means he’ll have to wait a little long before he gets to see tonight’s prize in all its glory. He steps back, making sure not to make any noise but he needn’t have worried. Tom is quietly talking to himself, David can’t hear the words through the sound of the shower, but he hears the change in pitch and tone and he knows that Tom doesn’t know he’s in his room. He takes a seat on the edge of the sofa at the end of the bed, and waits for the teenager to get out of the shower. 

He looks around and he realises he would know who’s room this was even if he didn’t know. The room is neat, neater than Bill’s next door – there are no clothes scattered around, no random pages of lyrics on the floor, no make-up strewn across the dresser. But, just like his brother, Tom has tomorrow’s outfit laid out on a chair, there’s a pad of paper sitting on top of it (though for sketches, not for lyrics) and sitting on top of the dresser is a cap and matching sweatbands neatly arranged where Bill’s jewellery is in his room. His suitcase is in the same place by the wardrobe, and even the remote is in the same place – carelessly abandoned on the bedspread. 

It doesn’t take long – maybe fifteen minutes – and the shower shuts off, and there’s rustling in the bathroom as Tom climbs out, reaches for a towel. David avoids thinking what Tom looks like at this moment – the last thing he needs is to freak the kid out with a hard on before it’s time. To distract himself, David pulls out the brown bottle, shakes out one of the pills into the palm of his hand, and rolls the tablet between his fingers. He can feel the anticipation settling on his skin, working its way into his belly and causing a warm heat to descend to his groin. 

Almost time, he knows, almost time.

Tom emerges from the bathroom clutching his clothes from earlier, a towel wrapped around his waist, and another around his shoulders. 

David breathes in sharply, because the transformation is beautiful. Tom doesn’t look like he did at the club tonight; there he looked older, raw and sexually confident, used to the dark and the flashing lights, closer to Georg’s age than his twin’s. Now, he looks much younger, even more so than his actual age. His skin is pink, his face unshielded by cap or sweatband and relaxed, his body loose and flowing rather than tight and controlled.

He stops dead in the doorway when he spots David, shocked. 

“Hey.” David offers the first move, and it lets Tom cover for his momentary fumble. The teenager shakes himself, grabs for the pyjamas set on the dresser and puts his clothes on top of his suitcase. He stands there for a moment, fiddling with the edge of his towel around his waist. 

“Be right back.” Tom slips into the bathroom, closing the door all the way this time, and David goes to the mini bar again, grabs another bottle of water, and waits for Tom to finish. The bathroom door clicks open behind him. “Sorry about that.” Tom stands in the doorway again, dressed in his own version of pyjamas – a baggy t-shirt, oversized cotton trousers, his dreads loose and falling around his shoulders but dry. He obviously declined to wash them tonight. 

“It’s alright. Didn’t mean to frighten you.” He hides his grin as Tom scoffs at this. Of course he wasn’t frightened. It just surprised him, that’s all! Such a touchy kid, that’s Tom. He holds out the bottle of water and pill to shift the focus on Tom’s spluttering denials of being frightened. “Here. To help you sleep.” 

Tom frowns at the pill, holding between his finger and thumb. “That’s not the usual med-medi-medication.” He says, stuttering over the word. David knows he’s tired if he’s messing up basic vocab now, his small speech impediment becoming more obvious as he gets even more tired. “Is it?” He asks, big brown eyes looking at David like a puppy’s. He trusts him. Trusts him absolutely and David revels in the feeling of control that he gets from it. 

He puts a hand on Tom’s shoulder, “No, I ran out of the other kind.” The last blue pill in the plastic baggie burns in his back pocket, but he forges on anyway. “It’s exactly the same, just a different brand.” There are actually several differences between the little blue pills and this bigger, grey one but Tom doesn’t need to know that. “It’ll send you straight to sleep just like the other kind.” The first truth he’s told tonight, or so it feels. 

He prays that Tom won’t see the lie in his face, but the teenager just shrugs, cracking the cap off the water bottle and swallows the pill. He pulls a face, “Eurgh. Tastes horrible.” David quirks a smile, takes the water bottle from a long fingered hand. “Are you staying till I fall asleep?” Tom asks, rubbing his eyes with both fists. So young. So very innocent. 

“Yeah.” It really doesn’t matter what David tells him at this point because he won’t remember it in the morning, but he gives him an affirmative anyway. 

Tom goes to brush his teeth, check on his outfit and generally wanders around the room just like his twin did, making sure his guitar is in its case and secure, but he succumbs to the pull of the double bed eventually. David dims the lights without being asked, and sits on the sofa again, turned to watch the teenager in the midst of the pillows and duvet that make him look lost in the middle of it all. 

However, he’s not quite ready to sleep just yet, and instead of rolling over, he props himself up on his elbows – points a finger at David. “You coulda given me fifteen minutes more with tha girl, you know?” Tom’s voice is thick, slurred but David makes out the message well enough. Tom’s happy smirk might give it away as well. “Just fifteen more minutes… or maybe an hour.” Tom smirks to himself, obviously pleased with that night’s pull. He should be – she was older, beautiful and so into him it was unreal.

David hates her, hates her more than she or Tom will ever know but he doesn’t let on. “Your mother would have my head.” David jests back. Oh, wouldn’t she just, if she knew what happened when Tom went to sleep?

“Nah. She loves you. You’re like… like Saki. Keep us safe.” Tom speaks with the confidence of the uninformed. David has no plans to change that. 

“Safe from what?” He’s only vaguely interested in the answer, but the longer Tom keeps talking, the quicker he’ll fall asleep. 

“Bitches who wanna have their wicked,” yawn, “way,” yawn, “with us….” Whatever he was going to say next is lost to a third massive yawn, and Tom’s head touches on the pillow, his body curling up into the thick duvet. 

If only he knew what would happen after he dropped off to sleep, David thinks. Simone might not love him then – she’d probably start wishing he’d burn in hell. 

He waits while Tom’s breathing evens out into the calmness of sleep, his fingers twitching, and playing phantom songs even while sleeping. David gets up to lock the door, check the hall through the peephole, but there’s nobody around. When half an hour has passed, he stands up and puts the glass bottle back on the table, wiping his hands on his jeans. He wanders around to Tom’s bedside, stands over him for a minute. Tom doesn’t react at all, not even when David calls his name, not when David shakes his shoulder, not even when he runs a hand down his cloth covered side and rests it on the gap between his shirt and where his boxers are riding on his hip. 

Now, it’s time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we can shift onto the porn aspect of it. 
> 
> As promised - a nice picture of Tom, this time sleeping. 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this is a horrendously long chapter, you are very lucky and get TWO pictures! 
> 
> One here, and one at the bottom, as a reward for making it through the hell that is my porn writing. 
> 
> So here's your first one: Young Tom, on a bed, in a hotel room. 
> 
>  
> 
> "/>

He pulls off his hoodie, leaves it on the floor beside the bed. Nothing else though - the only one who will be nude tonight is Tom. He goes to check the door just one last time, just for paranoia’s sake. It’s secure, and his jeans are feeling tighter by the second, confining in a good way, but he refrains from touching. 

Not yet. Not yet. 

He stands over Tom, who is sleeping so peacefully; absolutely unaware of the danger that is standing over him. He breathes the deep, even breaths of someone who is sleeping the dreamless sleep, but he still reacts when a finger trails down his nose, across his cheek, over one eye. Good. David pushes him back further into the middle of the bed, and Tom rolls with the motion, with a sleepy sigh settling onto his back, arms outstretched and loose, his face still turned toward David. One hand curls on the pillow, holding on for some unconscious comfort. 

Seating himself on the side of the bed, David reaches out a hand and runs a finger along Tom’s chin, causing a breathy sigh to catch in the teenager’s throat. This is what surprised him so much the first time he did this – all those months ago. So sensitive, both of the twins – barely a touch and they’re hyperaware of it, skin sensitive to even the slightest stroking, the lightest of presses. Even in this deep sleep, Tom is processing the sensation, understanding that he is being touched, moves to accommodate it. David moves away from Tom’s face, brushing down to the hem of the guitarist’s t-shirt. Grasping the bottom of the grey cotton shirt, he lifts it up, pulling it over Tom’s head in a smooth seamless motion. Tom gives easily, his body sliding out of the material as easily as silk over air, his dreads rasping as they come out of the neck of the shirt. 

This is why he gave Tom a different pill. The blue ones might make you sleep, but David has found during his months of experimenting with both of the twins that they wear off quicker than expected, and it’s possible for them to wake up, especially if they were stressed before taking them. These new pills, ones he’s only used on the boys a few times have proven their weight in gold. The sleep they induce is the deepest, most impenetrable sleep possible. He has caused them pain, caused them pleasure, made them give him pleasure and they’ve never woken up during the entire thing, not once when they take the grey pills. 

The fact that the pills make the few hours before taking them hazy and difficult to remember is just an added bonus. 

Tom’s shirt is off now, and David leaves the trousers riding low on Tom’s hips; there’ll be plenty of time for that later. Tom’s face is turned back into the pillow, his neck long and exposed in the half light from the bathroom, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows. It’s beauty that is cradled in the soft pillows before David, the serenity in his face is obscene in the gloom, a mockery of everything David has done to him nights passed and will do tonight. Those soft pink lips that are open just the tiniest bit, the long eyelashes that brush softly against baby soft cheeks belying his age again; it’s so much to take in all at once. 

Turning away from Tom’s face, he runs a hand across the flat, boyish chest, and Tom murmurs something. He’s not aroused yet, but he’s aware of the touch, turning into it without knowing why. David tweaks a dusky nipple, and Tom restlessly shifts against his touch, his hand tightening on the pillow. David pulls and pinches at the other one, and watches as Tom rocks his hips into the pull and push, his oral compulsion causing him to pull at the lip piercing even in sleep as he reacts to the sensation. This is what he loves about both of the twins – as virgins their bodies are just playgrounds of sensations, of needs and wants that have never been fulfilled and David has the freedom to explore those playgrounds when they’re like this, helpless and uninhibited. If a girl tried this sort of determined abuse of their flesh, they’d probably be thrown out with explicit orders not to return. David is free to taste, to sample, to savour the different sensations, different pleasures he can give to the two of them. 

He’s learnt so much from both of them over his time with them – Bill likes his hair being played with, will moan louder than ever if David massages his scalp as he rocks against the teen, pushing their dicks closer together than even he thought possible; Tom likes his hands to be holding something – anything – a pillow, his balled up shirt, David’s dick - anything but always something in order for him to be relaxed. There are things that turn them off as well: Tom hates someone pulling his dreads, his face will screw up and he’ll turn away from David when he does; Bill dislikes his feet being touched – it’s the surest way to get him to turn over and present that sweet backside to David.

But they both agree on something - in the depths of Morpheus’s embrace, slow and gentle is the way they need it. They like the build-up to the main event; they like David taking his time to make it work, manipulating them slowly but surely up to the pinnacle of pleasure, and David has not spent nearly a year learning their bodies inside and out to let that knowledge to waste. The differences between the two of them are far outstretched by the number of similarities they share. They both sigh and push their hips up when David kisses sweetly behind their ears, rocking their dicks into his when he pulls gently on their lower lips. They both like to have something places around their throat, over their mouths when they come – it’s so much explosive, and the adrenaline gets David going as well, but he’s only done that twice because it’s so dangerous – he can’t leave bruises or marks that would leave them suspicious next morning and he’s always worried about pushing that too far, too much and seriously harming them. 

But always, over and above the rest of the things he’s done, (and he’s done so much), the thing he loves most of all though? It’s this right here, right now. These flat boyish nipples, the soft mounds of flesh around them that are too small to be breasts, too big to be ignored as just skin. He’s fascinated with them because they both have sensitive nipples, hypersensitive really; he’s never been with a girl with such tender tits as these two. He’s made them both come from just sucking on the dusky flesh, turning it a puffy rosy pink, biting softly so as not to leave any marks but hard enough to drive their hips from the bed, to make them want, panting and moaning while they’re in the midst of the best wet dream ever. 

He scrapes his nail over the right one, and Tom responds like clockwork, his left hand reaching out and grabbing the pillow on the other side in a loose grip. He opens his mouth, licks his lips and a faint moan escapes him. David smiles to himself. So predictable, yet so delicious every time. 

David lets a hand slide down to the waist band of the teen’s boxers, slips a hand between the elastic of the garment and warm, faintly tanned skin. A faint whine escapes from Tom’s throat, and David obliges the unspoken request, pushing further south to find what Tom wants him to find. He presses the heel of his hand to the half hard bulge between Tom’s legs over the material of the trousers, and the poor boy rocks against the pressure, his tongue darting out to taste the air as he seeks pleasure. No doubt his brain is interpreting this as an exceptional wet-dream, because he makes an attempt to take over the action himself, but the movement is half hearted, and aborted half way there. David palms his own dick through the rough denim of his jeans but doesn’t take it out yet, not yet. 

There’s far more pleasure to be had before the main event. 

He leans over, puts his mouth on Tom’s chest, kisses his way from breastbone to right nipple, and then back again, and listens to the harsh panting that follows his ministrations. Tom whines when he stops, his right hand moving languidly down to press at his dick in the same way he did in the club to get himself off properly, but this time, David pushes it away, uses his own hand to stroke at the hard bulge, pushing his fingers into the crevice of Tom’s hip before stroking the flesh beneath with the tips of his fingers.

Tom’s head rolls back, his dick now fully engorged and waiting, his hands clenched tighter in the pillows than before. David smiles at the image, leans forward to reach the boy’s heaving chest. He bites softly at Tom’s nipple again, and then applies suction, laving his tongue over the nub of flesh and it gives him the desired response. Tom’s dick twitches beneath his hand, and he rocks up again, pushing against David’s side, trying to create enough friction to get off, get the edges off the pleasure that’s coursing through him. David’s lips split into a smile; such typical teenage drive – anything to feel the pleasure. He won’t let Tom do that, not now he’s spent such time learning how to touch them, how to tempt them, how create true desperation in them. 

Now Tom is ready for the next step, and David is more than ready to move on. He uses both hands, strips off both boxers and pyjama bottoms off the teen, leaving Tom in nothing at all – not even a headband to hold back his dreads. 

In thanks, Tom’s legs open wide, wide enough for David to kick off his trainers and climb over to kneel between them, wide enough to allow David an uninhibited look at the teen so wantonly spread out like a Amsterdam red light whore. David settles between them, runs his fingers across what feels like acres of baby soft skin, and his dick pulses so hard in his pants that it makes him gasp aloud. 

Below him and unaware of David’s distress, Tom tries to bring his knees together again when he feels the cold breeze from the aircon running invisible fingers over his most sensitive areas but David’s hands press them back into the bed, already shushing him back into deeper slumber. Tom settles almost immediately, his muscles loose and his long legs relaxing back into the mattress, but David doesn’t let them go completely. Instead, he leaves his left hand loosely holding Tom’s left thigh – forcing an even greater spread of Tom’s legs, and strokes his right hand from right ankle to the top of Tom’s hip; revelling in the faint dusting of hair he finds on the way there. It’s the burgeoning beginnings of manhood on a kid who boasts he’s been one for two years now. It’s only faint now, the same on his forearms – it’s the heavy veining and the tense muscles of his arms that make you think he’s far older when it comes to his arms than anything else – but the boy is proud of it, proud to be becoming a man. 

Between his legs, though, where David has a thick patch of curly dark hair, on Tom there is nothing – no hair, no primitive signs of sexual maturity, nothing. Just a blank canvas – not even any sign on razor burn. Tom, like Bill, shaves it all off. Too many hours cramped on a hot, unairconditioned bus to make leaving it an option, David thinks, but he prefers to think of it as a sexual thing – that both the twins are being more exhibitionist and sexualised by exposing more skin to David, and David alone. It’s hardly the truth, David knows that, but he likes to pretend; likes to believe that there are these things between Tom and Bill and him that only they know about. The same is true under his arms, the skin soft and supple without trace of hair. It must take dedication to manage all that without a cut or a single patch of stubble, but there’s no flaw to the perfection beneath David’s fingers. 

David runs his hands over Tom’s face, swiping down his cheeks and across his chin but there is no beard threatening to come out, no stubble to feel like that which has been threatening Georg’s face for the last year. Baby face, he thinks as he leans down to swipe a tongue gently across those same soft cheeks, watching as Tom’s lashes flutter delicately. The taste is all Tom, though – clean with an underlying sweet musk that will have any girl panting after she gets close enough – has had plenty of girls panting, David reminds himself. 

He shakes himself mentally to rid himself of the thought but he can’t. His mind is still at the club, still watching Tom let that girl (whore, he corrects himself, she was a whore) plaster herself all over him and David feels his lips pull back in distasteful half pleasure as he remembers. He needs to rid himself of jealousy for her, or it’s going to ruin tonight, so he slides his face away from Tom’s down to his throat where there are still little red marks from her lips, her teeth, little symbols of her desire for the guitarist. David needs to change that, needs to replace her symbols of love with his own before he loses his cool completely. He nuzzles in the crook of Tom’s neck, uses his own lips and teeth to kiss and bite, to raise his own little red hickeys beside hers, laves his tongue over hers so he can strip away her essence even though Tom’s already been in the shower and logically there is nothing left of her anywhere near the teenager.

Tom whimpers, his hands coming up to press at David, but the man simply lets go of the teenager’s leg, grabs both of Tom’s hands in his own and goes back to giving the boy more hickeys, more marks to claim him as his own. He moves to the other side of that long neck, finds a big one of hers and is a bit more forceful with his teeth than he intended, nipping hard at the centre of the mark. Tom gasps in his ear, rolls his head back and thrusts his hips against David’s own, rutting in pleasure. David uses his tongue to caress the mark, his dick pulsing as he rocks up against the smaller hips beneath him. He’s enjoying the pleasure, and no doubt Tom likes the pain tipped edge to his own hot rush of heat, the hard cock pushing against David’s t-shirt is proof of that. 

This is why he had to wait for Tom to find a girl – only when he can have a plausible excuse for the marks he wants to make on Tom can he actually do what he wants without drawing suspicion from Tom or anyone else for that matter. It’s also why he can’t do this with Bill – the boy is too shy to find a girl aggressive enough to give him the type and amount of marks David needs, so this… this is Tom’s domain, or rather David’s domain on Tom; only when Tom emerges from a back room of a club or from a hotel room with a marked neck, and a coy smirk on his lips can he truly do what he wants. 

It doesn’t happen nearly often enough to really sate his desires, so David has to take advantage of it whenever he can. 

Pressing his hips down again, he grinds slowly into Tom’s groin, relishing the sounds of moans and gasps as the rough denim pulls and catches against the smaller boy’s dick, aggravating sensitive nerves on his balls. He whimpers when David sucks again on his neck, scraping his teeth towards Tom’s collarbones, licking a stripe, and then blowing on it, watching as the skin ripples and goose bumps form in the wake of the wet. Tom’s fingers flex on first the pillow then the bed sheet beside his hips as he pushes his dick up, reaching out with his pelvis in that ingrained human need to take command of his own pleasure like he so often has before, but David’s not having any of that and he moves his own hips away and watches Tom’s face screw up in desperation as his brain tells him to rut against something to alleviate the mounting arousal that’s already made his dick red and heavy.

But David denies him, pushing his hips down with his hands but not going anywhere near Tom’s dick, grabbing hold of those calloused, guitarist hands again when Tom tries to go in and grab for his dick to finish it off for himself. 

He’s been neglecting his favourite parts again, though, and David intends to correct that as soon as possible. Leaving the neck alone for now, David turns his attention back to Tom’s nipples which are already standing at attention, waiting for him and his mouth. Letting go of Tom’s hands, he massages the little nubs with both of his own hands, loving how Tom’s mouth falls open, little mewls of pleasure coming out between those pretty pink lips that Tom would deny ever being able to make, never mind actually doing so. He leans down, takes the left one this time in his mouth, sucking, biting softly, pulling and Tom arches even further back, his hands coming up to the pillow and hanging on until his knuckles go white. David chuckles. “So very sensitive,” he whispers to Tom as he lifts his mouth off the flesh while he rearranges himself to straddle Tom’s hips rather than kneel between his thighs and Tom turns his head away from the words, his cheeks flushing with what probably is pleasure, but David thinks (wistfully) could also be embarrassment. 

He leans back down, turns to the right one this time, licking at the little mound flesh around it, using his teeth to worry at the flesh, turning the nipple a soft, rosy pink before he sucks it into his mouth, and Tom’s hips try desperately, determinedly to grind against something, anything they can but David is keeping his own far enough way to make Tom’s unconscious mind unable to find anything and poor Tom’s dick is left hard, exposed and wanting in the cool air of the room. The more David pulls and sucks, nibbles and laves his tongue over both nipples, the harder Tom becomes and the more he whimpers and moans and mewls, until David sees the first tears of frustration appear, trickling out of Tom’s closed eyes; first one, then another, then a third. Tom’s mouth gapes in a near constant moan and his dick is so hard, David knows that one touch, one tiny little lick would send him over the edge until sweet sweet oblivion. 

Well, that’s not going to happen. Not yet, anyway.

David pulls back from Tom’s chest, draws his whole body away from Tom’s, leaving only his hands on Tom’s knees to prevent him from closing up and stopping him from getting such a good view. Tom’s hands don’t let go of the pillow, but his hips flex up, the muscles in his belly pulling taught as he tries to get friction against the air, but there’s no joy and he whimpers again, chewing on his lip ring to satisfy the oral craving again, making his lips puffier and pinker than ever before. David wants to slide his dick in there, rest his cock on that lip ring and watch that tongue give little kitten licks and long filthy porn star strokes against his engorged flesh, but he knows that with Tom that’s a much more hit and miss thing, and Bill’s a much better choice for the blowjob route. Being a singer, he has a much more reduced gag reflex, and he’s a lot less likely to bite, however softly, than Tom. 

Instead, he reaches around for his back pocket, finds one of the ever present packets of lube he has in there and rips it open with his teeth. One of the advantages to Tom over Bill however, is that Tom has discovered the delights of ass play, and wasn’t that a surprise four months ago, when he first discovered Tom’s little rosebud flushed pink and slick with lube after David had been a little late with the pills? It was a joyous feeling, a moment of surprised pleasure because now David could take it a step further, and he’s been using the few occasions since to indulge himself, using more of his skills to bring Tom to pleasure and back again, and again, and again. 

Laying the open packet open carefully on the bedside table, he climbs off the bed, takes away a couple of pillows from Tom’s head to make him lie almost flat on the bed, and slides one stolen pillows under Tom’s back, wriggling it down to situate it properly under his backside. Satisfied with the arrangement, he kicks the duvet off the bed, and slides back between Tom’s thighs, and Tom so obligingly opens up again for him, moaning in greeting as David slides his hands up towards his over hard dick, but David is only teasing and the moan soon turns back to a whimper when David takes his hands away. He pulls Tom further up onto his lap, so the teenager’s thighs spread out either side of him and that almost girlishly round backside rests on his own thighs, and the heat is in-fucking-credible against his own overheated skin, even through his jeans.

He picks up the packet of lube, warmed from his own body heat, and uses the meagre amount he can squeeze out to slick his first two fingers on his left hand. It’s not much, two fingers’ coverage at a push, and he wishes he could do more, but unless he wants to do more than arouse Tom (like create complete and utter confusion and suspicion on Tom’s part about what happened after he fell asleep), he’ll have to stick just the bare minimum. This lube is cheap, quick drying and water based, so there are no incriminating stains left behind when he’s finished… 

He reaches down with his left hand, to just behind Tom’s balls, and then lets the skin guide him further back until he finds that little ring of flesh, so tight and impenetrable or so Tom would think. It’s the work of a moment for him to massage around the edge, use his other hand to rub teasingly at Tom’s perineum before it relaxes and his first finger can just slip inside, he’s up to the second knuckle of his forefinger before he’s had a chance to even take a breath. 

Tom whines, and his dick deflates a little at the uncomfortable sensation before David swirls his finger around, trying not stretch him but to provide pleasure, not reaching for the prostrate that he has no hope of reaching with his non musician fingers, but just petting the searing flesh inside with the pads of his fingers, trying to generate more sensations than just the discomfort from the intrusion of his fingers.

Five minutes later, he’s got both fingers working in Tom’s ass, thrusting them in and out in time with the pull of that fine fine flesh, and Tom has his head thrown back, his mouth wide open in a desperate cry for more, and more, his hands white knuckled on the sheets as he tries to create friction against something. David has one hand locked around the base of Tom’s dick, preventing his orgasm with his fingers acting as a temporary cock ring, and it’s the best feeling in the world to have the self-proclaimed playboy of the band dancing to David’s tune, his pleasure dependant on David’s mood and his body being the one to bring or deny Tom’s orgasm. 

David’s own dick is so hard, pressing up against his belly from where he unzipped it from its prison of his jeans in a moment of frenzy, bouncing in time with his heartbeats, craving some form of contact to bring relief to the ever mounting pleasure-pain that’s been slowly working its way up from his balls since the middle of tonight’s concert. He ignores it for now, just relishing in the rising feeling of hot heat of pleasure and he slides backwards a few inches, pushing Tom a few inches further up the bed at the same time. The boy’s body goes willingly, the pillow causing his hips to tilt up even more, and David looks at the offering before him. 

It’s a glorious picture, one that he wishes he could photograph or sketch or do any number of things to record but he knows he cannot because in the very very very very tiny chance of an event that anyone would find it, he’d be in so much shit, he’d never be able to dig himself out. Instead, he tries to take it all in now, so he can bring it up in his mind again when it’s been a hell of a day but he isn’t able to get one of the twins alone again and he has to restrict himself to his hand and his memories. Not imagination. Who the fuck needs imagination when you have this beautiful an image in front of you?

Tom’s head is tilted back, exposing that long throat with the red hickeys all over it, the little marks of possession still bold against the soft flesh of his neck, the single red mark on his collar bone that he’ll think was from the girl, but was actually all of David’s own doing, the only lasting reminder of this event that he’ll allow Tom to have. The baby face with puffy lips that look like they’ve been glossed, but have actually been chewed and licked so much they’ve turned pink and thick from the pleasure, those pretty fluttering eyelashes over brown hazy eyes that are so dark they’re almost visible under those thin eyelids. 

David lets his eye wander down, to those rose red nipples, still so hard and tender from where David licked, bit, sucked and pulled at them, spit shiny and so damn hot that if he put a hand over them, he could probably feel heat rising from the tormented flesh. Further down, those long fingers winding into the sheets, pulling at them in desperation as David denies him one form of pleasure but gives him another in abundance – his dick is denied, his ass given more pleasure than he probably ever knew it could without toys and patience. 

And the piece de resistance, one of only two points of contact of David’s body on Tom’s now is the teenager’s dick, long and hard, red and leaking precome copiously over David’s hand where it still forms the human cock ring, preventing Tom from coming. 

He spares a glance at the clock and is surprised – he’s in here for more than an hour, almost an hour and a half but it seems like barely a minute since he slid his key card through the reader outside the room.

Letting go carefully of Tom’s cock, he reaches down to his own dick, roughly palms it before changing tack, and smoothing his hand around the heavy flesh, massaging at it, pulling his own precome down to give him some slick to play with. He’s so hard, but he can restrain himself for a little longer and his other hand still pets Tom inside his ass, the flesh squeezing his fingers in ways that David can only dream of squeezing at his dick. Regretfully, he pulls his hand free of Tom’s body, wiping them carelessly on his jeans as he prepares for the last act in this sordid play, the best part. 

Tom lays before him, completely undone, and willing to give him anything, anything he wants at all and David finally finally gives in to the temptation, crawling forward to brace himself over Tom’s body; not touching, but just hovering over him, right hand bracing on the bed beside Tom’s shoulder, his left positioning his dick over Tom’s where it stands proud of the teenager’s body, weeping pre-coming as Tom moans, whimpers, his mouth moving in a constantly litany of pleas and begging wordlessly for something, anything, everything to relieve the pleasure that David knows is probably almost at the pinnacle of pleasure turning to pain. Lips quirked in a smirk, he brings his other hand to his own dick, using quick strokes to bring himself off, no longer dragging out the pleasure but racing towards it, hurling himself at breakneck speeds towards the burning light behind his eyes that traces down to his balls, to his cock. 

And it’s the work of a moment to twist his hand a little to the left, push his hips further down to really feel the drag and grind of his body working to give him the best orgasm possible and then he feels the familiar rush in his veins that precedes the best feelings in the entire universe – the blinding hot wave of joyous pleasure that causes his hand to still on his dick for a moment as it spurts white into the air, arcing over Tom’s body to land on that soft belly, and David doesn’t think when he moves further up to let the next one land on those pretty pink nipples, dragging the head of his dick down to deliver white over first one, then the other.

He’s left panting in desire as he milks his dick over the teenager’s body who mewls anew at the feeling of the semen landing on him but he still can’t get off, and he tilts his head back so far that David can see the veins stand out, his breath loud and panting in the stillness of the room as he unconsciously, blindly offers himself to whoever is controlling his pleasure, seeking gratification at the expense of his own pride of doing it himself.  
It takes a minute, two minutes, three minutes before David climbs down from the high that coming has given him. 

Beneath him, Tom’s moans and pleas are still going on, but now there are words, “Please, please, please, oh please, oh, oh…” And David cannot resist such a pretty plea, such obvious eagerness, and he shakily withdraws down Tom’s body, leaning back to kneel between Tom’s legs, and take a moment to recover his breath. 

The sight of his own come spilt over those two little buds of flesh standing proud would make him hard again, if he was Tom’s age or even a twenty year old, but he’s not and it just gives him a warm satisfying glow in the pit of his belly to see Tom marked and stained with David’s come and David’s marks – not those of that whore from the nightclub. 

He smooths his hands up Tom’s thighs and gives in to Tom’s demands, reaching the pleasure triangle between Tom’s legs and letting his hands rest there. Tom moans in approval like that whore he so resembles now, and David allows him hands to wander, letting his fingers dance up that shaft, gripping tight for a second, then gathering the precome and using it to slick up and down, rubbing over the head.

And Tom doesn’t disappoint, his legs spreading even wider than before, his hands coming down to pull them farther apart, looping under his knees and holding them there, leaving himself spread and open for anyone to see. If David needed any more proof of Tom’s own latent need for male control, to give up his own and let someone else give him pleasure and dominate him this would be it; Tom’s absolute openness to him is unconscious, instinct driving him to spread his legs and beg, not reach for his own pleasure and handle it himself in this moment of ecstasy. 

Tom moans loudly, his lips shaping the word please over and over even though nothing comes out between them, and he tries to thrust up into David’s hands but there’s nothing for him to brace against when he’s being as submissive as he is, and he has to take it – take whatever is given to him and he does take it, like the good boy he is. He takes it and begs for more and is so caught up in pleasure that he’s practically vibrating with need and want and pleasure that when David leans down to lick against the head of that almost purple dick, his other still wrapped around the base of Tom’s overeager dick, his whole body tenses and it’s only David’s hand around his dick that prevents him from doing what he desperately wants and coming. 

He whimpers, sounding so lost, and hurt and confused at the lack of pleasure that David does feel himself start to rise again, and he goes back to licking at Tom’s dick – gives him the blowjob he himself wants from the boy but cannot have. Lots of long slow licks, using his right hand to roll Tom’s balls between his fingers, and push against the skin just behind them to create the most sinful noises possible and the sweat is causing Tom’s skin to gleam in the half light, tension thrumming under his skin enough for David to feel when he presses his cheek to Tom’s thigh. 

No longer the master of his own body, Tom is strung out on David’s fingers, his pleasure hanging on David’s hands, and David has pity, has mercy for this poor teenager who is so submissive but in denial, so led by hormones that he probably doesn’t know which way is up by now, even though he is chained in the embrace of sleep. He smiles, beatifically, leans down, sucks Tom deep into his mouth, and lets his left hand unclamp from around the base of Tom’s dick, his right passing down to press at the rosebud between Tom’s cheeks. It takes a moment for the teenager’s body to catch up, to sort out the different feelings it’s been blessed with before his brain realises the permission it’s been given. 

Tom arches his back, his hands letting go of his legs to grip the sheets again as he comes in silence – his mouth bowed open in an unheard scream, his legs braced and tense either side of David’s head as the older man licks, and sucks and swallows every inch of that precious white fluid that comes out of Tom’s dick for the next thirty seconds.

It’s beautiful. 

His own dick is hard again, so soon after the last one and he doesn’t bother with finesse as he slides his mouth off of Tom’s oversensitive dick and lets the boy slowly drop back to the bed again. Tom’s panting, his skin slick with sweat, and David merely rises onto his knees, points his dick in the direction of that beautiful body and lets instinct take over as he jacks off, hard and fast. 

A minute, maybe three later he’s smearing his come all over those nipples, a strand or two over that oversensitive dick and he tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling because he cannot bear to look a moment at the innocence soiled by his own fluids anymore because it turns him inside out and makes him so hard and feels so filthy at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's your second. Intensity, Tom has it. 
> 
>  
> 
> " />


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And last chapter. Because you're all amazing, you get two pictures again! Both at the bottom this time, but two is still two!

Fifteen minutes later, he’s climbed down from the incredible high of his second orgasm tonight, and he is standing over Tom, on the floor. He’s been here for the last seven and a half minutes, breathing hard and still with his dick hanging out. He doesn’t care how dangerous it is to be like this, he’s absolutely exhausted in that bone weary way. He’s amazed at how far he let himself go, how much he dared to do tonight – and it’s all thanks to that little grey pill that he discovered one night back in France when they were miles from anywhere and both twins hadn’t slept in forty five hours.

On the bed, Tom’s still locked in the sleep of that little grey pill; he didn’t stir when David climbed off of him, didn’t stir when David leant down and kissed so sweetly along his jawbone, pushed his fingers into that pretty red mark on his collarbone that will almost certainly turn into a black and blue mark.

Even better, he didn’t stir when David pushed his fingers as far as they would go into his ass, pushing them hard to press against the prostrate he could reach at this angle, didn’t wake up as David pulled and pushed and stroked Tom to his second orgasm of the night, pulling it out of the boy with whimpers and mewls as well. Tom had panted, brought his knees up to curl into a little ball, rocking gently to bring himself to his second pleasure climax, looking so young and innocent because he’d hidden his face in his hands, ashamed and excited even in his asleep as David curled his fingers inside that incredible silky heat. The manager had pulled that orgasm out of the boy so slowly, it made his wrist ache and his finger cramp as he stroked at the little spongy bump but every little gasp of surprise, every little mewl of pleasure had more than repaid him.

Now, after all that, David looks at that mark on Tom’s collar bone, runs another finger down it. Tom won’t remember if the girl did it or not tomorrow, but he will tell the others that she did, show it off proudly while bragging that an older girl did that to him. And only David will know the truth.

And it feels good.

Tempted, he swipes a finger through the come on Tom’s chest, a potent mix of both of his own orgasm and Tom’s second, tastes it. It’s heady, musky and he wants to try an experiment. He lifts the digit to Tom’s mouth, pushing it in past those puffy lips. Tom doesn’t react really, just slides his tongue briefly under David’s finger, but there’s no pleasure or distaste at the foreign intrusion – he’s too deep to register it properly, David knows.

Next time, then.

Feeling cold and exposed now that he’s come off the high almost entirely, he goes into the bathroom, finds a wash cloth draped over the sink from where Tom brushed his teeth. David wets it in the sink while he studiously avoids looking at himself in the mirror. Just for now, just for tonight, he doesn’t want the guilt that usually rides on the heels of an experience like the one he just had. When it’s sodden and his fingers are cramping from the cold, he swipes the material roughly over his cock; removing any last traces of semen from the skin before zipping himself back up, wincing at the feeling of the cold metal of his zipper on his still raw dick. He looks almost normal now, if not for the high colour in his cheeks and the bright sheen to his eyes.

He runs a new bowl of water, making it hotter than hot in contrast to the cold water he used on himself and rinses the cloth out to make it clean for his next task.

Back in the bedroom, he uses the warm and wet washcloth to wipe away every trace of the sin he’s poured on Tom’s body, erasing the truth of his illicit pleasure from the soft skin. Tom moans a little as he swipes the rough material over his chest, protesting the rough treatment of his raw nipples, their tenderness fading but not entirely gone. It will linger tomorrow, making him confused but not suspicious as he gets flashes of pleasure from his oversized t-shirts on the abused nubs of flesh. David looks forward to seeing those moments, the unguarded looks of heat before Tom catches himself but he’ll still be surprised by it, maybe even enough for his twin to ask him what the matter was in that sometimes infuriating twin way. No doubt Tom will deny anything being wrong, because that is Tom’s way.

He goes back to the bathroom, rinses out the cloth in more hot water, and goes back out to the bedroom to wipe away at Tom’s dick, the raw organ there still very much a bundle of nerves and Tom squirms away from the heat of the cloth but David perseveres, lifting up Tom’s cock to stroke softly at his balls, before folding the cloth over and just dipping it between those two round cheeks to make sure there’s no lasting lube or residue of pain. Brushing it with the fingers of his other hand, he finds nothing, and the little pucker is already closing tight. By morning, it will be back to normal, and Tom won’t know any different.

But David will remember.

Every time he wanders past the dreadhead, he will know what causes the boy to start when his shirts brush over his nipples. He will know why Tom will feel a little sore sitting down, even though his ass will look no different. He will know why Tom’s neck will be spotted like a leopard even though the girl only did a few of them. He alone will know why Tom will feel unusually relaxed tomorrow, able to shrug off insults and smile in the face of his brother teasings where he would normally fight back with tooth and claw. Tomorrow will be interesting.

Putting the cloth on the floor for a second, he finds Tom’s discarded pyjamas and puts them on the boy– first the boxers, sliding them up those long legs and taking the time to settle his dick and balls into the little pouch. He draws up the cotton trousers, adjusting the waistband with his fingers, only to take them off again because they’re the wrong way around and if there’s one thing he has learnt, it’s that Tom’s OCD won’t let him put clothes on backwards and that’s a sure fire way to be found out. Then, he picks the shirt, slips it over Tom’s head and then threads those skinny arms through the holes and pulling his dreads out of the neck hole. Tom doesn’t even mumble as he removes the pillow from behind Tom’s back, shoves it back into the pile at the head of the bed. He resettles Tom back in the middle of the bed, and draws the duvet over Tom’s sleeping form, and it’s like nothing ever happened as Tom curls up deeper into the cool bed linen, his face still smooth and untroubled by what happened.

David wants to do it all again, wants to soil that innocence over and over but he knows he’s already overstayed his usual amount of time, that anyone might come in at any moment and catch him in the act, so instead, he goes back to the bathroom, rinses the washcloth out and re-hangs it back over the edge of the sink where he found it. Inside the bathroom, he has disturbed little else, and he pulls the door half shut behind him as he leaves.

In the bedroom, Tom sighs, rolls over again to face the other wall as David collects the little bottle of pills, throws away the half empty bottle of water that Tom used earlier, scoops up the two parts of the lube packet and tucks them away securely in his pocket to make sure to not leave either behind. Tom would undoubtedly wonder where they came from if he found them on his nightstand in the morning. He’s tempted to one day leave it somewhere, like the bottom of the waste paper bin, just to give himself more excitement as he images Tom or Bill finding it the next morning, wondering where it came from. He could never do that though – too much danger.

He checks everything again, makes sure he has everyone’s key cards in his pocket, the both sets of pills tucked in the pouch of his hoodie, and that he is zipped up and secure before he leaves the room. Wouldn’t want to frighten any of the other guests of the hotel by leaving himself swinging loose and cool in the hallway. It actually takes effort for him to resist the temptation to go over and plant one more kiss on Tom before he leaves. No, he tells himself sternly. Tempting fate is not a good idea, and he’ll just have to be satisfied with the memories of tonight.

When he leaves the room, the hallway is silent and deserted, and David darts back across to his own room, almost but not quite slamming the door behind him. Tonight was amazing. But the guilt is already eating at him, causing him to feel sick and sweaty.

He knows he’ll back though.

He always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. 
> 
> All done, and dusted. Feel free to comment and I will reply. Do not hesitate to point out problems, spelling errors or points where things have borked. I have a lot of borked moments. 
> 
> And for your reward of making all the way through this - here's a picture. 
> 
> ">
> 
>  
> 
> And another, for your added pleasure~
> 
> ">

**Author's Note:**

> This is the edited version of the one I posted on the kink_meme, with corrections and editing galore.


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